


Bonus Gift With Purchase

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Feelstide 2014, Getting Together, Gift Exchange, I Believe in Jasper Sitwell, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By all accounts, Clint Barton was poised for a stellar SHIELD career.</p><p>He was also incredibly good looking, had a body built for sin, and flirted with anything that moved. Including Phil, who always ignored it and the way it made him want to blush and stammer like a fifteen year old.</p><p>And absolutely none of that helped Phil figure out what to buy the man for a holiday gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonus Gift With Purchase

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> For Feelstide prompt #87. I've included the text at the end of the story, for those who wish to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Thanks to orderlychaos for reading it through and offering edits and suggestions, and to Strike Team Clint Coulson for all their cheerleading and help!

 

The brief knock on Phil's office door interrupted Phil's analysis of the intel on the situation in Madripoor, and he frowned as he glanced up to see Sitwell stick his head in.

"Hey."

"Sitwell," Phil acknowledged as he sat back in his desk chair and reached for his coffee, grimacing as he realized just after he'd taken a sip that it was stone cold.

Sitwell smirked, knowing exactly what Phil had done. "So who'd you get in the gift exchange?"

"Telling you would be against the rules," Phil said, and Sitwell rolled his eyes.

"You can tell me as long as it's not me," he retorted.

"But now that you've said that, if I still say I can't tell you, then you'll know it's you. So it's better not to break the rules, isn't it?"

"I don't know why I even bother."

"Neither do I, but your persistence is inspirational."

Sitwell scowled at him. "Whatever, asshole. Guess I'll just leave you to your ice cold coffee and your indecipherable intel. Have fun."

Phil hid his smile as Sitwell shut the door behind himself. After a moment, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the exchange assignment he'd barely bothered to look at. He unfolded it just enough to see the name messily scrawled at the top.

_Clint Barton_

Phil hadn't worked with Barton very often yet -- only a few missions -- but he expected that to change in the future, if Barton's near-meteoric rise within SHIELD continued.

He was, of course, familiar with the slew of rumors that swirled around SHIELD regarding Barton's recruitment -- which, if scuttlebutt was to be believed, had involved a chase across the rooftops of varying Eastern European cities in the driving rain, a gunshot wound in his thigh, and an aborted leap from a fifteen story building. Phil was also aware of the rumors regarding his own exploits before and during his time with SHIELD, so he gave the gossip about Barton none of his attention.

What little he knew of the man personally seemed to agree with what he'd heard from Fury and the other senior agents -- that Barton was a good man and a good agent who hadn't had the easiest life. Jasper called Barton a sarcastic little shit who'd offer backtalk to a recorded message, and while that was _also_ true in Phil's limited experience with Barton, the discipline problems that had flourished in his early days seemed to have calmed down. By all accounts, he was poised for a stellar SHIELD career.

He was also incredibly good looking, had a body built for sin, and flirted with anything that moved. Including Phil, who always ignored it and the way it made him want to blush and stammer like a fifteen year old.

And absolutely none of that helped Phil figure out what to buy the man for a holiday gift.

Phil sighed and tucked the paper into his coat pocket. As maddeningly incomprehensible as the intel was, it was clear the situation in Madripoor was worsening, and the gift exchange was nearly a month away. Plenty of time to deal with that later.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil winced as he dodged a lady rushing by with shopping bags in both hands. The quick twist to the side pulled on the stitches in his abdomen, and the sharp burst of pain settled into an unhappy throb.

As expected, the situation in Madripoor had gone south, suddenly and explosively. The analysts' projected three month timeline had collapsed into three weeks, leaving Phil and Hill and the teams on the ground scrambling.

Phil _hated_ scrambling, hated it even more when it left materiel in ruins, targets compromised, and assets bloodied and abandoned, necessitating an extraction with guns blazing.

But he was home now, and Christmas was looming. Phil didn't have many gifts to buy, but he knew the longer he waited, the worse the crush would get, so he'd braced himself and gone out shopping.

The stitches at his hairline and colorful bruising along his jaw drew a few stares, which made him antsy, but no one said anything. Thankfully, the worst of his bruising was covered by his clothing.

Phil was confident he was nearly finished shopping. He'd picked up a nice charcoal gray sweater for Nick, a pretty turquoise scarf for Maria, and some beautiful leather gloves for Melinda. He'd buy the scotch for Nick and Melinda later, and he'd already ordered the gifts for his cousins' children online -- he'd brave enemy fire again before facing the toy department.

As was traditional, Jasper's gift was a trip with Phil -- on Phil's dime -- to whatever trendy new restaurant he'd discovered but hadn't had a chance to hit yet.

And with that, Phil was pretty sure he was done.

He shifted his few purchases in his arms, reaching into his pocket for his PDA to check his list. Paper crinkled, and he frowned as he pulled it out.

His heart sank. The gift exchange. He'd completely forgotten about the gift for Barton.

Finding a sales counter, he dropped his purchases off for safekeeping before looking more closely at Barton's signup sheet.

Under "favorite color", he'd written _purple_ , then scratched it out, written _black_ , scratched that out, and rewritten _purple_. 

That much wasn't a surprise -- several of the reprimands in Barton's sizeable personnel file were for filling out paperwork in something other than the required blue or black ink.

The man had good taste in music -- classic rock and punk mixed in with a few more modern artists Phil didn't recognize -- but he had no idea what music Barton already had, the department store he was in did not sell music, and he was not going to hit another store. He wanted to be done.

Under "suggested gifts", Barton had written, _I don't know… a sweatshirt, I guess? Something warm to wear on base._

Retracing his steps to the table where he'd found Nick's sweater, Phil took a quick look around. The soft cashmere turtleneck he'd chosen for Nick wasn't quite Barton's style, but there were others that might work. Besides, cashmere would put the gift over the limit -- not that anyone paid that much attention to the limit.

One of the sweaters on a nearby table seemed to be a dark purple -- nearly black. It was a v-neck sweater, cashmere blend, soft with a nicely-tailored fit, and it would certainly keep Barton warm on base.

Someone bumped him from behind and then squeezed past him without even an apology, setting his stitches throbbing again. Lips thinned in annoyance, Phil took a deep breath, and then grabbed the purple sweater and headed back toward the register. It would do.

On the way there, he passed a table full of small boxes of gourmet chocolates and took another look at Barton's requests. Under "favorite sweet treat", Barton had written, _Anything, I guess. Oooh, Milky Way!_

Phil grabbed a little box of dark chocolate caramels. Close enough.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Sitwell popped into his office around ten the next morning. "Here's the updated analysis on Madripoor."

Phil barely refrained from rolling his eyes as he took the report. "Let's hope it's more useful than the initial intel."

"Mmmm," Sitwell agreed. "Got your gift all ready for the exchange, I see."

"Yes. And I'm still not telling you who my recipient is."

Sitwell did _not_ refrain from rolling his eyes. "Jerk. I just hope whoever got Barton doesn't screw him over."

"Oh?" Phil said, curious, stopping himself before he could glance at the gift bag on the corner of his desk. He hadn't been aware that Sitwell and Barton were close.

Sitwell shrugged, stepping fully into Phil's office. "Sure. Kid's a mouthy brat, don't get me wrong, but he's a good guy," he added, and Phil raised an eyebrow. Barton was maybe a year or two younger than Sitwell, and it wasn't like Jasper himself didn't occasionally get mouthy as hell when a mission went to shit.

"Don't look at me like that, Coulson. You're mouthier than the both of us. But Barton looked mystified by the whole concept of a gift exchange, and then his eyes got all big and if he'd had a tail, it'd've been wagging furiously when Woo explained. He couldn't sign up fast enough after that. I don't think there's been too many Christmas presents in his life, you know?"

Phil thought back through Barton's file, through the abuse and the neglect and the life that was in turns nomadic and solitary, realizing that Sitwell was probably right.

Guilt settled heavily in his stomach. It wasn't like the gift didn't meet -- mostly -- Barton's requests and suggestions, but he'd put very little thought into it, grabbing the first sweater he found that looked like it might fit.

He hadn't even bought Barton the candy bar he'd asked for.

Phil wondered if he'd have time to go to the vending machine before the exchange was set to occur.

Sitwell's cell phone rang. "Shit, gotta go. See you later. Hope whoever got you gets you a polyester tie again."

His laughter rang in the corridor as he slipped out of Phil's office, completely ignoring the middle finger Phil jabbed after him.

Phil settled back into his seat, staring at the bright colors of the gift bag on his desk.

Barton was new to this, probably not all that familiar with receiving gifts in any case, and he'd likely appreciate whatever he was given. But that wasn't the point.

Pulling the crumpled slip of paper out of his trash can where he'd tossed it this morning, Phil smoothed it out on his desk.

He sighed as he read it, imagining Barton hesitantly filling it out. Sharing personal information never came easy for SHIELD agents, not even something as simple as candy and color preferences. Phil and Jasper and Maria and the others were used to this ritual by now -- Phil had filled out his exchange form nearly by rote -- but for Barton, this was all new.

Under "favorite restaurant," Barton had written, _Um, whatever, anything's good. Italian. Somethin cheap!_ and punctuated it with an honest to god smiley face.

Phil reached for his briefcase, pulling out the Christmas card some of his cousins had sent. He slid it out of the envelope, and the Olive Garden gift card that had been tucked inside fell to his desk.

Adding it would definitely put the gift over the exchange limit, but that was part of the ritual too, wasn't it? At least once, the gift had to be either way over or way under the limit. It was better for Barton to learn that now.

He signed the card he'd bought for Barton's gift, placed the gift card inside, tucked it into the bag, and hoped Barton didn't hate the sweater.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Sitting back in his desk chair, Phil smoothed down his tie, smothering a grin at the thought of the gift he'd received in the exchange. Jasper -- the jerk -- had indeed gotten him a luridly striped polyester tie, but he'd also given Phil a beautiful silver tie pin and cufflinks in the shape of Captain America's shield. Not the round one that everyone recognized, but the first one, the heater shield he'd carried during his original USO tour.

Phil couldn't quite bring himself to wear them at work, so they were tucked carefully away in his dresser at home.

There was a knock on his door, and Phil glanced up as Barton stuck his head in.

"Hey, Coulson. Got a minute?"

"Come on in," Phil said, bobbling and nearly dropping his pen as Barton slipped into his office and the light from his window hit the sweater Clint was wearing -- the sweater Phil had given him. "Wow. That's, uh… that's really purple."

Before he could apologize and say that it hadn't looked that purple in the store's lights, Clint nodded, hesitant smile broadening into a beaming grin. "Yeah, it's great! I love it! I just, um, I wanted to say thanks."

The vague sense of guilt Phil had been carrying around for several days melted away under the force of that grin. Even though Barton wasn't flirting with him this time, his stomach fluttered the way it always did under Barton's attention, and Phil swallowed heavily, pushing down his attraction by long force of habit.

Barton was thankful for his gift. That was all.

"You're very welcome, Agent Barton. It fits you beautifully."

Now that he'd gotten over just how purple the sweater was, Phil let his gaze roam -- objectively, of course -- over Barton's well-muscled form in the nicely cut sweater. The cashmere blend fit him snugly, highlighting his honed, athletic physique.

Had his arms always been that well-defined?

Perhaps Phil hadn't been objective enough. Barton flushed, his cheeks going pink as he tugged at the hem of the sweater. 

"Yeah, it, uh, it feels a little tight to me? But Bobbi told me it's supposed to fit like this, and I got a wolf whistle from Agent May, so..."

That startled a laugh out of Phil, and Clint grinned, ducking his head charmingly as he shrugged.

"Oh, and hey -- those candies are really great. Um, I'm kinda rationing them out to make them last longer. So, thanks again, sir."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed your gift."

 _Gladder than you know_ , Phil thought wryly. "I'd be happy to tell you where I found the candy, so you don't have to ration them out so carefully," he added.

"The nutritionists probably wouldn't like that," Barton said with a grin, and then he fell silent, but he made no move to leave Phil's office. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and Phil watched him curiously.

"And, um, the gift card. I was… I was wondering? If you'd maybe want to go with me? Fill up on unlimited breadsticks and neverending pasta?"

He grinned crookedly at Phil, and Phil stomped down on the part of him that wanted to blurt out a hasty agreement. It was his turn to take a deep breath and marshal his thoughts.

"Barton… I appreciate the invitation, truly, but it's not necessary. That card is for you to use with whomever you want."

"No, I know, but… I am… I mean… we haven't spent a lot of time working together, but I thought… we get along, and I thought maybe you… okay, maybe it was dumb to ask you to dinner after I just admitted I was gonna pay with a gift card. That sounds kind of tacky, I guess. No, okay, maybe it was just dumb of me to ask at all. Never mind, Coulson. Forget I asked. But, uh, thanks anyway. For the sweater. And the, y'know. The rest."

Phil caught a quick flash of the disappointment on his face as he turned toward the door to Phil's office. 

"I'd love to," Phil said -- blurted, after all.

Barton -- Clint -- stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"But if we're going to eat unlimited breadsticks together, maybe you should call me Phil."

Clint turned back with such a hopeful smile on his face that it set Phil's stomach fluttering all over again. Phil didn't stomp it down this time.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

**Epilogue, 12 Years Later**

 

Phil sat on the couch in the Avengers' common area, waiting for Clint to come down from their suite. He could've waited in their own living room, but he liked to informally check in on the team in their down time, whenever he found himself in the tower. Get a measure of things, if he could.

The elevator door opened to admit Thor and Captain Rogers and Stark, in the midst of an argument, as usual. Their faces were relaxed, their stances wide and easy, so it wasn't a real argument. A pitched battle over cavemen vs. astronauts, most likely, or possibly Star Trek vs. Star Wars.

The debate trailed to a halt as they caught sight of him.

"Well, well, Director, don't you look… casual," Stark said, raising an eyebrow at Phil's dark green sweater and jeans.

"Stark," Phil greeted him mildly, refusing to rise to the bait. "Captain Rogers. Thor."

"Where's your more reckless half?" Stark asked as he draped himself on the other end of the couch. "You two are usually attached at the hip whenever you're in the same zip code."

"Clint should be down shortly."

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Steve asked, and Phil's inner twelve year old squeed -- as he suspected it always would -- that _Captain America_ sounded so hopeful at the thought of sharing a meal with _Phil_.

"I'm afraid not; we have dinner plans," Phil told him with an apologetic smile.

"Perhaps tomorrow night, then," Thor said as he settled into a club chair opposite Phil, his long legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. "We have missed your company."

"Not as much as I have," Clint drawled as he stepped out of the elevator. Phil smiled at the sight of him in a dark purple sweater that fit him, if possible, even better than the one Phil had originally bought him, all those years before.

That one had been worn until it was practically rags. Phil suspected that the remnants of it were still tucked away with Clint's belongings, somewhere in their suite.

And what had started as a small box of dark chocolate caramels was now a larger box of salted chocolate caramels, but it still held pride of place on Clint's bedside table -- beside their wedding photo -- and it was still rationed out just as carefully as that tiny box had been.

Phil stood as Clint strode up toward where he'd been sitting. They looked each other over, their mutual appreciation silent, as they weren't alone.

"It's adorable how you guys think you aren't actually making googly eyes at each other," Stark said, with a roll of his eyes as he shoved himself back up off the couch.

"Wanna get out of here?" Clint murmured, the corner of his mouth tilting in the crooked smile Phil loved.

"Yes. I do. Good night," Phil said to the others, adding, "And yes, Thor, dinner tomorrow sounds good."

"But tonight, unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks await," Clint said with a laugh.

Tony paused, turning slowly toward them, finger pointed accusingly. "Tell me that you're not going to the goddamned Olive Garden on a date. Tell me!"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "We're going to The Olive Garden. On a date."

"No, I refuse to let you. You guys haven't shared a meal in weeks, you can't -- give me five minutes. I can get you a table at any restaurant in the city. The country!"

"Don't think I won't take you up on that another time, Stark. Tonight, we'll share a Tour of Italy."

Phil hid his smile at Tony's exasperated groan.

Both Steve and Thor were watching the interaction with slightly puzzled expressions.

"Why do you dismiss their chosen destination so readily?" Thor asked Tony in confusion. "I have seen the advertisements for their neverending pasta bowl. It sounds like a worthy challenge."

Tony's eyes lit up. They positively gleamed with unholy glee.

"No," Phil said preemptively, pleased when Steve said it simultaneously.

"Yes," Tony argued. "Oh, yes. Barton, we're coming with you. We're taking Cap and Thor to the Olive Garden for their neverending pasta bowl, just to watch the staff panic."

"It's a date, Tony," Steve said flatly. "I don't think we're invited."

"Oh, come on, they don't mind. You don't mind, do you, guys?"

"Yes," Clint and Phil said together.

"Truly, Tony, I do not think we should -- "

"We're not going to just invite ourselves on their date, Tony -- "

"It'll be fun -- "

As their voices rose and began overlapping, Clint leaned into Phil, and Phil took a moment to savor the sensation.

"Let's get out of here while they're arguing," Clint suggested, and Phil nodded. They quietly moved away from the trio.

They slipped into the elevator, and the doors closed on the sound of the escalating squabble, bringing blessed silence.

Clint pulled Phil into his arms, and they grinned at each other from inches away.

"Hi," he said, touching his forehead to Phil's.

"Hi," Phil murmured. He slid his hands up Clint's back, sighing both at the softness of the sweater Clint was wearing and the firm muscle underneath.

"So glad you're here."

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," Phil told him.

Clint grinned. "Unlimited breadsticks are a hell of deal."

"You've figured me out," Phil murmured, his lips against Clint's. "That's exactly why I'm here."

Clint smiled into the kiss, and Phil made a mental note to thank JARVIS for slowing their ride to the ground floor.

Later. He'd thank JARVIS later. Much later.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Feelstide Prompt #87: Pre-Avengers: To be honest, Phil Coulson hadn't really put much conscious thought into the gift he bought for his recipient in the SHIELD holiday gift exchange. It turned out, however, to be just what Clint Barton needed.
> 
> You guys, look at this, it is AWESOME. homeisbehind--theworldahead on tumblr has drawn Clint in his purple sweater, and it is AMAZING. [Look at this gloriousness!](http://homeisbehind--theworldahead.tumblr.com/post/113793408937/beaten-up-and-bashful-clint-barton-for) :D


End file.
